


Back to the Shadows

by MissLee



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Angst, Crying, Drug Use, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Gen, M/M, Mycroft Being a Good Brother, Mycroft To The Rescue, Pining Sherlock, Post-Episode: s03e02 The Sign of Three, Pre-Episode: s03e03 His Last Vow, Sherlock-centric, Short
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-09
Updated: 2017-07-09
Packaged: 2018-11-29 20:41:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 783
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11448687
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MissLee/pseuds/MissLee
Summary: "In one day he'd lost his best friend to a woman he could never hope to compete with, had the joy of discovering he may actually be someone's best friend torn from him to be replaced by a lover, and the realisation nothing would be the same had left him weak and vulnerable. It had to stop now....They lapsed into silence for a time, Sherlock still coming down and Mycroft trying to keep his own heart from breaking for his little brother and run away soldier."A continuation of the end of The Sign of Three. What does Sherlock do after he leaves the wedding?





	Back to the Shadows

That was it. It was finished. The book closed and the page forgotten. A chapter complete.

In one day he'd lost his best friend to a woman he could never hope to compete with, had the joy of discovering he may actually be someone's best friend torn from him to be replaced by a lover, and the realisation nothing would be the same had left him weak and vulnerable. It had to stop _now_.

That was how he'd come to find himself in the shadowy place he promised he'd never return to. But it was a lost cause. This is where the circle of his life began and ended. Banished somewhere void of all love and warmth and in its place, only heartbreak and sadness masked by the haze of a good hit.

He met someone he knew from _before_. Before John. A face he swore he'd never see again emerged from the darkness and beckoned him over, a practiced dance they'd performed many times. The steps he remembered perfectly, it scared him to think how easily he could fall back into this, but _not now_ he told himself, there was time to wallow later when the high had worn off, right now he needed to forget.

The relief came swiftly but still he felt it wasn't enough. The chinks in his armour were noticeable, even now the battle was over the war still waged. He'd shed his safety for a scant few hours and now chaos surrounded him everywhere he turned. He could feel the blood singing through his veins and the pounding behind his eyes. He could hardly breathe, his heart was racing, muscles twitching; he'd never felt so alive.

 _Chasing through streets and dashing across roofs and_ \- No.

All day he'd been building up to this complete collapse of all his faculties. Every defence he'd put in place had crumbled the minute he'd walked out. It started slowly but then it snowballed out of control and now here he was; the ground was unsteady beneath his feet and the map he'd cultivated for years stained with memories that wouldn't be deleted. Streets that were once escape routes now gauntlets taunting him with their impossibility. Alleys once used as cover instead ripped through his life like bullets.

Journeying back was excruciating. He'd left that morning stripped of his comfort but armed with a false confidence he no longer felt. He'd been expecting a slight slip, he wasn't stupid. Tortured himself all day with countless nicotine patches. Far more than a three patch problem, this was a whole new level of _not good_. The death he now felt so keenly was slow and painful; fabricated steadily over the months since his return. The wounds he'd coveted had barely even healed when he'd begun to feel the need to tear through his flesh to scratch at his nerves. Everything needed to stop. Too much input. Lights, sounds, even the feel of the cloying suit seared upon his skin. It was all _too much_.

He grasped the door handle with an unsteady hand and fumbled around for his keys, lost somewhere in the suffocating layers of suit that matched Johns almost perfectly. Almost.  

There was the sound of the lock clicking open from the other side of the door. His brother opened the door and stood quietly, just observing, taking in everything he could about his little brothers state. Glassy, red rimmed eyes, dilated pupils, tear stained cheeks, chapped lips, trembling frame, disheveled clothes... It took him less than a few seconds to put it all together. 

He said nothing for the moment and instead pulled his brother inside and to his chest for a hug. Silent tears fell anew as tremulous hands came up to grip desperately at his suit jacket. Sherlock wept quietly for a few moments into his brothers shoulder and felt his heart wrenching a hole inside of him as the short-lived high wore off. 

"My..." Sherlock began in a tight voice, he hadn't called Mycroft that since he was small. 

He was pulled further inside and settled on the steps to 221b as his brother went to close the door. Mycroft rejoined him and let him rest his head on his shoulder. 

"It's alright Sherlock," he said gently. "Where's the rest?" 

"Coat pocket," his voice came out strangled and broken. _Just like the rest of me._

They lapsed into silence for a time, Sherlock still coming down and Mycroft trying to keep his own heart from breaking for his little brother and run away soldier.

"How do you do it, My?" Sherlock asked eventually. "How do you stop it from hurting?" 

He could only sigh and admit; "You don't." 

**Author's Note:**

> So this was originally going to be a short little thing that I wrote in a few minutes because I had an idea and I wanted to write something angsty. It's still short but I ended up sitting on this for a fortnight. Hope you enjoyed and I'm sorry if your heart hurts a bit :(
> 
> [My Tumblr](https://missleeismyname.tumblr.com/)


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